


Tumblr Prompts: Teen Wolf

by wibblywobblymess



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, and that can be pried from my cold dead hands, the sheriff's name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:37:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibblywobblymess/pseuds/wibblywobblymess
Summary: Teen Wolf drabblesmy Tumblr.Each chapter is a different drabble.This work will be listed as COMPLETE, but I will add a new chapter when I write a new drabble.





	1. Stiles/Peter - "Things you said too quietly."

**Requested by mieczyslawstilesstilinski**

 

               The last thing Stiles had expected to come back to Beacon Hills for was to take out an Argent. Again. Chris had gotten better, Chris was good, Chris was on their side, but as far as Gerard and Kate, couldn’t they just stay dead? It was like they were built strictly to ruin the lives of people in Beacon Hills. It was really pissing him off. But here he was, with his friends, his family, his pack, to fight Gerard and his wild band of monster-killers and scared people to try and kill it off once and for all.

               It was a whirlwind of plans, fights, movement after they arrived, and getting the chance to see Peter, to talk to him, it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t something he could explain to Scott. He couldn’t be like “hey, Scotty, I know we’re saving the town…again…and trying to take down Gerard…again…but I gotta take, like, an hour, and talk to Peter. Why? Oh, no reason, definitely not because the weird creepy uncle vibe actually turned me on and we may or may not have had a thing and I may or may not want to find out if there’s actually something still there.”

               No…that wouldn’t go over too well with Scott. Not now. Maybe not ever.

               Stiles felt like he was running around in circles, even if he wasn’t, when he and Lydia saved Jackson, Ethan, and he grabbed the jar when Scott called before coming to the school. The mountain ash was brilliant – Stiles should have thought of it. But, he figured, he’d give this one to Scott. Scott was pretty smart, himself.

               It was a huge relief when everyone cracked out of their shells, when everyone took a breath, and it was over. Even if Monroe was alive, and restocking out there, somewhere, it was still a little bit of a weight off their shoulders knowing Kate and Gerard were actually, now, out of the picture. That the last remaining Argent was a good one, one who had learned a thing or two from his daughter.

               So with everyone checking on everyone else, Stiles disappeared from the library, made his way down the hall to try and find him, hoping he hadn’t taken off yet.

               Peter was shaking some of the rock from his hair, hands brushing over his jacket, when Stiles rounded the corner, and stopped, breath catching. As bad as things had been, even when he was the Big Bad, there was something about Peter that Stiles just was drawn to. But it was Peter, and he wasn’t one to just smile and be happy, he had to be an ass about it most of the time.

               All of the time.

               Which is why it surprised Stiles when Peter paused, and turned, and…smiled…at the sight of him.

“Our human saved the pack. Good job, Stiles.” He swallowed, and nodded, glancing over his shoulder before making his way down the hall.

“I had to. It’s my pack,” he replied, hoping Peter could  _hear_  that, no, that wasn’t it. Peter quirked a brow, nodding, turning coming to face Stiles.

               The touch of Peter’s hand to his face was not only a surprise, but it also sent a jolt through him, and warmed his stomach in a way Stiles hadn’t felt in a long time. His eyes shot up to Peter’s, but the wolf wasn’t looking back, moving his hand instead to brush something – ash? – off his cheek, and then his shoulder, and really, Stiles couldn’t help it, he wanted to lean up, and kiss, twitching a bit where he stood, wondering if Peter’s lips still felt as soft as they used to.

               But then Peter was pulling away, and clearing his throat.

“Enjoy the other coast, Stiles. You’ll be a great agent…everyone else is lucky to have you.” With a pat to Stiles’ shoulder, Peter was gone, pulling the moment with him, and Stiles couldn’t move, weight heavy in his chest.

“…I was luckier to have you,” he said, but it was soft, too soft, and if Peter heard him, he didn’t even flinch, letting the doors to the school bang shut behind him as he left the pack behind, and left Stiles with the answer he didn’t want.


	2. Chris x Peter - "Bitch better have my money."

**Requested by mieczyslawstilesstilinski**

 

               It was unusual to do normal things in Beacon Hills, considering how often someone or something moved into town to try and destroy Scott and the pack, or burn the place to the ground, or something else wild and dangerous. So the fact that the  _sheriff_ , the guy who was supposed to be the end all, be all as far as upholding the law, was hosting a “friendly” poker game in his kitchen? That said a lot, to the people around the table – Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Derek Hale, the sheriff (of course), Jordan Parrish. It was a much, much needed night of something normal, who were any of them to argue?

               The table was covered in discarded cards, chips tossed across. The sheriff insisted it was just a game, no actual bets, but every time he left the table, the others looked around, quietly wagering real money against the game, and the chips. Beer bottles filled counter in the next room, the collection growing every time the sheriff stood to clear some clutter from the table.

“One wager, all or nothing,” Peter said, voice low, eyes following John as he dug out a couple of glasses for water, for the humans, knowing they were down to the end of the night. Chris glanced over, brow quirked, as Jordan and Derek huffed.

“Look, I got my money back, I am not throwing more at you,” Derek declined, shaking his head.

“I’m with him,” Parrish added, pointing at Derek as he shuffled the cards for the last time. Chris snickered, shaking his head.

“I’m listening.”

“Stilinski wins the last hand…fairly, not because anyone  _cheats_ ,” Peter smirked, “and everything goes to you. Stilinski  _loses_  the last hand – fairly, not because anyone  _cheats_ ,” he repeated, “and you double the money I’ve got in my pocket.”

               Chris studied the Hale seated beside him, brow quirked, contemplating. It was Peter, it was a dangerous idea to bet against him for so much, but really, Chris was confident. John had been playing great all night, the odds of him losing the last hand were a million to one.

               So Chris stuck out his hand, shaking Peter’s firmly before John came back.

               He could have spit, when John lost to Parrish – a very apologetic Parrish, at that – for the last hand. But Peter didn’t flinch, or smirk, and Chris was hopeful, for a moment, that he was going to let it go.

               What a stupid thought.

               After they helped clean up, and bid goodnight to John, everyone headed outside, loaded up, and drove off. It wasn’t until Chris got home, got out, locked his car, that Peter reappeared, standing against the side of the house as though he’d been waiting  _ages_  for him to show up.

“Oh, Christopher.” Chris swore under his breath, digging out his house key.

“Good to see you still lurk in the darkness, Peter.” Peter chuckled warmly, pushing off the brick to follow Chris, who went still when he could feel Peter’s body heat so close to his back.

“You owe me something, Chris.”

“No I don’t.” Yes he did, but why not have some fun with this?

“…Argent.”

“Hale.”

“Bitch better have my money.” Chris nearly choked on a laugh, cocking his head as he shoved into the building, feeling Peter brush into him as he ducked through the door, too.

“No more TV for you.”

“Argent.”

“I don’t  _have_  that much money right now,” Chris admitted, shaking his head. But Peter didn’t swear. Instead, as they reached his door, Chris went still at the feeling of hands on his hips, eyes dropping to his hands as he held the key against the lock.

“Well…I think we can make an arrangement…so you don’t have to give me  _money_ …can’t we?” Peter purred from behind him.

               Chris wasn’t sure he’d ever unlocked the door so fast in his life.


	3. Stiles (Sterek) & Reader - "Just remember, if we get caught, you're deaf, and I don't speak English."

**Requested by anonymous.**

 

               The FBI Academy was hard work – hard work being a gentle way of putting it. You had to make decisions between food and sleep – and let’s face it,  _food won out_  almost every time –, and any kind of connection to other people and training. And obviously, there was little wiggle room to choose anything but training. But you had lucked out, in meeting Stiles Stilinski within the first few weeks of training. He was excitable, and happy to be there, and so knowledgeable, and it was hard not to be just as excited about everything by just being around him.

               A few months after an incident that was only being referred to as the California Incident – so vague, and it did not stop you from looking into it to find out it was something involving the wanted fugitive Derek Hale, who was somehow now not a wanted fugitive?? – you and Stiles were still training, but now you were partners, and you were getting actual experience in the field.

               Neither of you were too pleased that the experience was just a stakeout. You both sat in the inconspicuous car, parked between other cars, in the dark, attention focused on the house at hand.

“One thing I gotta stay,” you huffed, thumping your head back on the seat. “TV and movies do not give enough credit to the  _ass numbing boredom_  that is a stakeout. And once this is over, if I look at one more cup of that coffee, someone is getting hurt.” Stiles snorted around the mouthful of curly fries, as you rolled your head to see him. “Company is good though.” He blinked over, startled, before grinning.

“I’ll agree with you on that one. And stakeouts don’t  _have_  to be boring. Honestly, I gotta tell ya, my dad is the Sheriff back home, and I was a wild child…”

“Was?” you teased, which he rolled his eyes but continued, smiling.

“So me and my buddy Scott, my bestest bro of bros, ever, we did a lot of stupid stuff, and I did a lot of stakeouts to be sure we didn’t get busted. Those weren’t all bad.”

“I’d love to know why you were doing stakeouts, because  _this_  is boring, and if those weren’t bad, we need to do those.” That prompted him to choke on his fries, and curl forward, slamming a hand into his chest until he coughed, and shook his head.

“Sorry, wrong pipe,” he gasped, as you frowned, and thrust out his water.

“Slow down on the curly fries, Stiles, they ain’t going anywhere. You okay?” He nodded, chugging some of the water.

“I’m good, thanks. You know, if you hate that coffee so much, you should try tea. My friend Lydia, she’s, like, the smartest person on the planet?”

“There’s someone smarter than you somewhere?” you asked, brow quirked, as he snickered.

“Lydia is a goddess in all things. She loves coffee, but now that we’re all in college, she’s actually taken to trying some kind of tea that helps her stay awake and keep her focused, but without all the smackdown like when coffee wears off. I’ll get to her tomorrow, find out what it is, if you want.” This was one of the reasons you liked Stiles. You had only mentioned the coffee, and how it felt like you were being punched in the face once the caffeine wore off, once, but he remembered it.

“I’d appreciate that. Oh…oh, we’ve got movement,” you said, patting his arm as you leaned forward to watch the house. The front door swung open, and then shut, and although there was barely enough light anywhere to really tell, you both could see the man crossing the road in your direction.

“Shit…okay…just remember, if we get caught, you’re deaf, and I don’t speak English,” Stiles rambled, dumping his fries in the backseat. You were grateful the inside of the car was dark, so the man couldn’t see you look at him, frowning.

“Then start speakin’ somethin’ else, or it’ll be clear that’s a lie,” you hissed, fumbling for the map in the glove box.

The two of you had a fall back plan specifically set up, something that you could try to use in case anyone came to the car to find out why you parked – tourists, deaf and non-English speaking, lost, with dead cell phones. It seemed feasible, but when the map hit your lap, you groaned, realizing you couldn’t see much of anything.

Not that it mattered, because when you glanced up, you spotted the man moving towards Stiles’ door, hesitating for a second before he yanked it open. The dome light went on, and you flinched, as Stiles jolted, and turned towards the figure.

“…Derek?”

“Damn it, Stiles. Are you seriously parked outside this place just  _staring_  and devouring curly fries?”

“Hey, I am on a  _stake out_ , why are you in the house of a drug trafficker?” The man, Derek?, scowled, and shook his head, eyes darting towards you.

“…who is this?”

“This is my partner, Y/N. Seriously. I leave you alone for ten minutes?” Stiles hissed, and Derek glanced towards the house, shoving the door closed before opening the back door, and climbing into the backseat, closing the door to plunge the car back into darkness.

“Wait, hold up, okay, I’m  _really confused_ ,” you hissed, twisting to face them – considering you now had dots dancing across the darkness, blocking any vision you had. Stiles sighed, patting your arm.

“Y/N, this is Derek Hale. My boyfriend.”

“Oh! This is the boyfriend! I want to say pleasure, but my eyes are a little fucked right n-“ You stopped at the sound of sniffing, before Derek groaned, and thumped his head on the seat. “What?”

“Stiles. Are you serious?”

“What?” Stiles asked, frowning.

“Your partner. Did you seriously have no idea your partner was a druid?” You frowned, as your vision cleared, just in time for Stiles to click the dome on and stare over at you.

“Are you serious?”

“How the hell…” you started, before you turned to see Derek, startled. “Ah! Wait! Hey! First, did you  _seriously_ sniff that one off me? And second,  _you said Hale_. The boyfriend is a werewolf?” you asked, looking at Stiles, wide-eyed.

               The three of you sat for a moment, just staring at each other as though you and Stiles were really seeing each other for the first time, until you snickered, and shook your head.

“I’m a good guy. And way to  _go_ , Stilinski, bagging a wolf from one of the strongest bloodlines. Seriously. Mad props.” Derek groaned, head dropping to the seat again.

“Okay, just figured out why you two are friends.”

“Awww, boo, Y/N is just my partner. And hella gay.”

“Oh, yeah,  _hella_  gay. And, you know, not to be a moment-killer or anything, because this is mad fun, but, can we get back to the drug trafficker?” you asked, pointing towards the house, as Derek reached around Stiles to shut the light off.

“I’ll text you if he shows up, right now the house is empty. We will talk about it later,” he added, before Stiles could argue, ducking out of the car and going back to the house.

               You leaned back in your seat, watching Derek jog up to the house, before chuckling.

“Nice get, Stilinski.”

“Hells yes, Druid. Which we are gonna have to talk about later.”

“Oh, yeah, totes. After you tell me about  _that_ ,” you insisted, pointing after Derek.


	4. Derek Hale + “Do I even wanna know?!”

 

        Stiles was the greatest, he really was. You loved that guy, he was always up for, like, fucking anything. Being in the Academy had him exhausted, but he still found time to do  _everything_ , including hanging out with you. So when he had time off, and you needed a hand in Miami, he figured,  _why not_ , and flew down to visit you. Beach? Drinks? Scottie coming down, too? Why not!?

               You knelt down by the small platform, needle clamped between your teeth, tugging at the slacks he was wearing.

“Stiles, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you comin’ all the way down here t’help me. Seriously. Do you know how many people agreed, and then backed out when I told them they were wearing a dress over their slacks?” you asked, tilting your head back to see him, before you went back to hemming his pants. He snickered, putting his hands on his hips in the Superman pose.

“You kiddin’? I’d just wear the dress, you offered to buy food and drinks and house me for a week, when you just needed me for two days, how could I say no?” he asked with a laugh. You snickered, too, removing, finishing his left leg, before pushing back to look.

“Which is why you are my favorite,” you told him, before shifting towards his right leg. “Alright, let’s see. Honey, you have about three inches too much on this side, you good to hold still?”

“Do I even wanna know?” came a voice from behind you, and god, you were glad the needle wasn’t in your mouth, or in his pant leg, as you twisted, startled.

               Derek lingered in the doorway, brow raised, as Stiles looked up, laughing.

“Hey, Der-bear!” he called, waving. “Bout time you made it!”

“I’m regretting it now,” Derek answered, as you snorted, shaking your head.

“Stiles, mind introducing me to the new guy?”

“Ah! Sorry! Y/N! This is Derek, my favorite boytoy. Derek, this is a friend from DC, Y/N. Does clothing design, asked me to help model.”

“…and the three inches?” he asked, strolling up along Stiles’ side as the model reached up to ruffle his hair.

“My pant leg is too long. She’s hemming.” Derek nodded, relief crossing his face, as you snickered, and shook your head.

“I have no knowledge of any inches  _anywhere else_ , Derek, and I certainly wouldn’t ask him to hold still while I took care of it,” you commented, as he blushed, and Stiles cackled.

“Awww, don’t mind him, Y/N. Derek just has a very possessive streak over my i-“

“Okay, Stiles, we don’t need to get other people into our sex lives, right?” Derek interrupted, making you laugh softly.

               The laugh got louder when that comment was immediately followed by Scott’s voice booming out of the kitchen.

“ _I keep telling you both I don’t want to know what you do with each other, and yet I can still hear you talking about inches! I quit! I’m going to the beach!”_

“Awwwww, poor Scotty,” Stiles tried to coo, but it sounded so fake through his wild laughter, that both you and Derek had to laugh, too.

 


	5. Stiles (Sterek) - "What are you doing?" "Hiding."

             The house was dark when John walked in, and he rubbed the back of his neck, sighing, shuffling to the kitchen. Double shifts were killers, but he couldn’t argue with the overtime pay he got for it. With a yawn, John rifled through the fridge, grabbing the container of food Melissa had sent over for him when she found out he was working doubles, and moved to pop it into the microwave to warm it up.

               Rustling drew his attention to the hall closer, and he frowned, glancing around, and pulled his gun out of the holster as he stepped carefully towards the door. With a sharp breath, he yanked the door open, aiming his gun and flashlight inside.

“Stiles?!” he hissed, quickly reholstering his weapon, staring in the pantry at the sight of his son on the bottom shelf, terribly hidden behind a few bags and canned goods.

“…uh…hey, daddy-o,” he replied nonchalantly.

“What are you  _doing_?”

“Hiding.” John blinked, baffled.

“From  _what_?” Stiles laughed, a bit maniacally, before shaking his head.

“Just, shut the door, you didn’t see me, okay? Shhhhh.” John groaned, shaking his head.

“I just…I can’t…ugh. I’m taking the tamales and I’m going upstairs, and I don’t want to hear whatever it is that you’re doing,” John groaned again.

With a quick shake of his head, knowing he’d never really understand his son, John grabbed his food, a fork, a beer, and headed off. He was halfway up the steps when he paused, and sighed.

“Derek, so long as you two  _don’t make any noise_ , just…go get him. He’s in the pantry,” John said normally, shaking his head as he opened the door to his room.

“…uh…thanks, sir,” Derek said quietly, slipping quickly from Stiles’ dark room and darting down the steps.

“…how many times have I told you, kid, it’s John,” he sighed, knowing Derek heard him just fine, as he shut the bedroom door, and turned his television on. Loud.


	6. Stiles x Reader + “Snow angels!”

             Winter was not uncommon in Beacon Hills, but Stiles had never had a winter with snow while he was home. Now, experiencing snow via witches and all that shit was another story, so he had experienced it before. But snow? In DC?

              This was brand new, and really, really exciting.

              You plowed into Stiles with a laugh, swinging around him as you barged out into the still falling snow, fat flakes clinging to your hair as you tugged the zipper up on your jacket, and bounced out into the fluff at your feet.

“Come on, Stilinski! First really good snowfall of the season!” you called, as he laughed, and followed you.

“But it’s so cold, Y/N! I’m from  _California_ , we don’t do this very well!”

              You led him around the campus, the quad covered in snow, and ducked down, gathering up a snowball and whipping it back at him. He squeaked, dropping to avoid it, before whipping one at you. You were laughing too hard at his face, though, and it clocked you, knocking you back into the snow as he jumped, flailing.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry!”

“For what?” you asked, wriggling in the snow.

“…what the hell are you doing?” he asked, jogging (or, really, sliding in a joggy way) towards you, curious. You peered up through the wild hair across your face, grinning, and shrugged.

“Snow angels! Come on, Stilinski, get down here!” you told him, but when you saw he was going to turn down the offer, you rolled, grabbing him and pulling him down with you into the snow. The squawk that came out of his mouth was  _so_  un-Stiles, you laughed more, before squealing, high and sharp, at the snow he shoved against your neck.

“That’s for pulling me down!”

“I didn’t put snow in your pants, but I will,  _get over here_!”

“AH!”

              You wished you had a camera, to see how ridiculous the two of you snow-covered Agents-in-Training looked chasing each other around the quad, sliding and slipping on the snow and ice while trying (and failing) to tackle each other back into the cold.


End file.
